


To Weigh The Good And The Bad

by FanGeekMe



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Depressed Tim Drake, Feels, Gen, Other, Poor Tim Drake, Suicidal Tim Drake, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs Help, Tim Drake Needs Love, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGeekMe/pseuds/FanGeekMe
Summary: Tim is just . . . he's tired. He's tired of being everyone's punching bag. He has no one left, he never did. He's never had a family, and he's done with the one he has. But did he ever have the Waynes as his family to begin with? Did he ever have a family? Did he ever have a life? Does he want to have a life?Trigger Warnings for suicide and suicidal ideations, as well as other topics.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 59
Kudos: 519





	1. Communication.

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin with the story, I have a few notes.  
> 1\. This is my first time publishing on Archive of Our Own. Still figuring out how everything works, so please bare with me.
> 
> 2\. TRIGGER WARNINGS: This fic does discuss depression, death, there is swearing and suicidal thoughts as well as suicide and suicide attempts. Please read with caution. I never meant to offend anyone.
> 
> With all that said, I do not own any of these characters and I hope you enjoy the story.

When Tim first aired his concerns to Alfred, Alfred said that Tim should communicate more. 

The first thing you should know is that Tim didn't want to tell Alfred. Tim may only be a sophomore in high school, but with his brain and his status as the former heir to Drake industries and the current ward of Bruce Wayne, Tim's already thinking about colleges, and colleges are already thinking about him. Unorthodox, it's true, but he's gotten offers for summer camps for Harvard and MIT. 

It all started when Alfred peeked over Tim's shoulder while Tim read through a letter from MIT. It was a quiet morning, and it was during the rare hour Alfred and Tim are the only ones awake. Well, Alfred wakes up early to prepare the morning for the family, and Tim pulls all-nighters to finish his schoolwork. Anyways, thankfully, Tim found the letter before anyone else did. 

Alfred congratulated Tim, giving the boy a bright smile that beamed with pride. Tim nodded, thanking Alfred. Tim went back to his phone, but Alfred asked, "Do you think you will be attending MIT? When the time comes?" 

Tim was distracted. He slipped up, forgot who he was with - or more importantly where he was. Tim, jokingly and with a bitter chuckle, laughed, "MIT isn't anywhere near far enough from this place." He laughed, shoulders shaking as he picked up his coffee to bring it to his chapped lips. He forgot. He thought he was at Titans Tower, which is strictly the only place he makes jokes about his relationship with the Waynes.

He realized too late. Alfred had already set down his tea and was looking to Tim with concern. "My boy," began Alfred, the tone in his voice making Tim give pause, "do you desire to leave us that badly?"

"Nonononono!" Tim frantically set his phone and his coffee down, wiping the coffee that drips off his lip with the side of his pointer finger. Tim looked at Alfred, who still had worry lacing his every feature. "I don't wanna leave you - I mean - I don't really want to . . . " Tim takes a deep breath. He looks down, scratching the back of his neck. "I just . . . with everything being so tense with me and Damian and Jason - I just . . . " 

Alfred understood. "If you truly feel this way, might I suggest you communicate your feelings to Master Bruce?"

"Would he listen?"

Tim didn't need to think about his reply. It slipped out of his mouth. To be fair, it's not like he didn't have reason for his feelings. When he tried to tell Dick about Damian's attempted murder, Dick wrote Tim off. When Tim attempted to gather evidence and tell his brothers that Bruce was alive, Dick tried to send him to Arkham Asylum. Tim even tried to tell Bruce that Jason tried to murder him twice, but Bruce didn't acknowledge him. 

Alfred just said, "You won't know if you don't try."

\- - - 

Alfred is wise, but the Waynes are dumb as Hell, and their attitudes and stubbornness cancel out all of Alfred's wisdom. This isn't usually the case, but it was the case this time, and it was the case that got everyone laughing at Tim at dinner.

Picture this. It's a Wednesday night and one of the only nights in the month that each of the Waynes is free to have dinner. In Tim's head, it's one of the only nights that Tim would rather fight Ra's al Ghoul four times over rather than attend dinner. Dick has a night off, Roy and Starfire are both out with different friends which leaves Jason free, Damian's only friend is with his own family, and Bruce doesn't have a meeting that night, League or Wayne Enterprises. Oh, and it doesn't matter if Tim can come or not, he has no choice.

Dinner starts fine. Dick begins to talk about Damian's progress with the Teen Titans. He beams with pride while talking about the blood son, the son who matters, the son who people would defy Darkseid for. The son who Dick would never threaten with Arkham. 

Tim can't remember how, but it soon got to the topic of Bruce's day, then Jason's, then Damian's, and soon, all eyes were on Tim. It was like his heart was beating and he wanted to continue eating but he feared it would all get clogged up at the huge lump in the back of his throat. He kept looking down at his food.

"Well," he began, twirling his pasta around his fork. He hoped his voice wasn't shaking as much as his hand was. His knee was bouncing anxiously up and down. "I went to school, came home, and now I'm here."

It's not like Damian gave more detail. Damian tutted his tongue and said that this activity was beneath him. He said one sentence and then they turned to Tim. They excused Damian. 

Jason snorted. In a cruel, mocking manner, he joked, "Real informative, Timbit." That alone for Tim to want to go back upstairs into his room. He was about to leave when -

Damian just had to open his mouth. "Be happy he didn't speak, Todd. You would've thrown up. I know I would've." Oh yes. Of course. Damian couldn't let Jason have the only jab at Tim that night. Because God forbid only one of them lowers Tim's self-esteem that night, it wouldn't be a family dinner.

Tim lowered his head, but he lowered his head and saw Alfred's cooking, which made him think of Alfred's words. He thought about it. When he came to the manor, he was promised a second chance. He relied so heavily on Bruce's intervention and the family making him feel safe. Maybe Tim has to do it himself.

He raises his head, and he says, "Uhm, I would . . . I would . . . " He doesn't know why it's so hard. Maybe it's their eyes on him. Maybe it's that two of these people have tried to kill him before and still verbally harass him to this day. Maybe it's that Bruce is going to take their side. Maybe it's the fact that Tim has never had good relationships and this is as close as it gets.

Damian snorts, mocking Tim as he imitates, "'You would . . . you would . . . ' God you're a disappointment."

Tim did have good relationships. It was with his friends. Steph, Kon, Bart, and the rest of the Titans. Tim remembers that each one of them made him laugh. When he and Kon dated, Tim thought there was something medically wrong with him because he kept smiling and his face was hurting at the end of each day. With the Titans, Tim was having so much fun that he was so tired at the end of the day that he didn't need Melatonin to sleep.

Bruce sighs, already tired of this. "Damian, let Tim speak."

Oh Bruce. Ever the parent. 

Tim never had parents. He had Janet and Jack, but they were never around. And they never made him smile. They made him cry and they're the reasons he has issues. They always pushed him aside, never listened to his feelings. They even once admitted that they only had a child to have an heir. Of course, right after they said that, they added that they wished they hadn't had Tim, and that he was a disappointment to everything they wanted an heir to be.

Then Bruce came along. And with Bruce, Tim was presented with two new things. One, Bruce. Bruce fought for Tim. He didn't fight Tim, but rather he continued to get angry for Tim. He was angry for Tim at the Drakes' neglect. He was angry for Tim at the way the Drakes brought him down.

And with Bruce and the new home of Wayne Manor, Tim was 'gifted' siblings. 

"I thought it was funny," laughs Jason as he raises a hand. "And you gotta admit, Tim does stutter pretty pathetically." 

Siblings. Tim could go on and on about his siblings and how they've hurt him. How they've scarred him. How they've made him feel unsafe, unwanted in his own home. How he dreads each time he needs to go downstairs or even come home from school - and now that Damian started at Gotham Academy, Tim doesn't even want to go to school. 

His every day is a living Hell. 

"Guys," tries Dick. "Be nice."

His every breath hurts. It used to be because it was so heavy. His chest first got heavy after his dad's death. He doesn't know why he was so sad. He even fell into his first depressive episode because of it. It was nothing like his mother's death. Tim always sought out his father much more than his mother, because unlike Janet, Jack showed Tim love from time to rare time. But Jack's death hit him hard.

Of course, he recovered in a few months, but just as he could finally smile, Steph died. And Tim was back into his trance. He didn't feel like living and it didn't feel like he was. Alive, that is. He didn't feel alive. Of course, he was still waking and sleeping. He was still attending school and having his dinners with Alfred each night. He was still going on dates with Conner. But it was all passing in a haze. 

He was fortunate enough to have a year of having Stephanie back from the dead when the next tragedy struck.

Jason looks at Dick, aghast. He exhales sharply, before descending into chuckles. "You want us to be nice to him?"

Damian nods in agreement. "I'm not agreeing with Todd, but I would like to point out that Drake doesn't even belong at this table. He wasn't chosen like the rest of us."

Tim was happy until Bruce died. When Bruce died, everyone thought Bruce was dead. But he wasn't. And so Tim, for some ungodly reason, thought Dick would support him when Tim approached his older brother with proof that Bruce was alive. This was after Tim was replaced, after Damian tried to murder him. That murder attempt was only a little while after Jason's second attempt to murder Tim.

Anyways, Tim went to Dick, and in return for Bruce's hardcore evidence of Bruce's being alive, screamed at Tim. He called Tim delusional, driven by grief, and Dick even threatened to send Tim to Arkham. 

So not only did Tim lose a father, but he lost the last of his brothers. 

"Jason," warns Bruce, because Dick gave up on trying to control his brothers. Of course Dick gave up on helping Tim. Bruce turns to Tim, who is quiet and still. Tim isn't moving, he isn't breathing. He isn't doing anything but his brain is doing everything and more. "Tim, what are you trying to say?" 

Tim is silent for a moment, before he speaks again. He tries to muster up a drop of his 'Tim Drake Wayne Enterprises CEO-In-Training' voice but he can't. "I would . . . I would appreciate it if Damian and Jason didn't tease me so much." 

There. He said it. And surely, if he was a member of this family, surely his request would be treated with respe - 

Jason and Damian burst out laughing. Even Dick chuckles, for some fucked up reason, but tries to hide it. Bruce is the only one who sees Tim shaking in his seat. 

"Are you serious?!" laughs Damian.

"That's a good laugh," snorts Jason.

Bruce is the only one who sees the veins in Tim's forehead and neck about to pop.

"Why would we care about your feelings?"

Bruce is the only one about to speak up.

"We don't appreciate you. Why would we appreciate your feelings?"

Bruce opens his mouth -

But Tim beats him to it. 

"OH FUCK YOU!"


	2. To Lose Another Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is done. He's going to let it all out, no matter if he - or his family - wants him to.
> 
> Let's see how this goes and pray for our boy.

"Oh fuck you!" The shout came out of Tim's mouth before he could stop it. Don't get it wrong - it felt good to yell. It felt good to scream. His emotions were boiling over, and the scream felt right. He needed to shout, and he did.

That doesn't mean he should have.

As soon as his scream was echoing off of the manor's hollow halls, many things were happening. Damian's eyes widen, his smirk wiped off his young face, replaced with a look of surprise. Jason choked on his food, unsure if he was going to laugh in amusement or shock. Dick stopped what he was doing and stared at Tim, his mouth agape. Bruce set down his silverware, patted the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and looked to Tim with a look of concern, a look of worry that was slowly spreading throughout his body like wildfire. 

Tim, stunned by his own outburst, sat there with a look on his face that resembles a deer in headlights. His chest is brought up and down, up and down in heavy breaths. His hands clench around his silverware, his knuckles turning white. His lips were parted and were considerably dry. 

No one knows what to say. Sure, a minute ago they were all teasing him. It was light fun! It's brotherly bonding! Jason and Damian are just joking around, having some fun at the dinner table! They always do it! And Tim, well, he never gets angry. Because he gets that it's a joke! Why would anybody get so angry at a joke? Can't Tim take a joke? 

Tim gets that it's a joke, right? 

Dick looks at Tim. He admonishes, "Tim, language." He tries to laugh at the end, to fill the awkward pit in all their guts, but it comes out forced. Dick looks at Tim, seeing that the boy's face is slowly contorting with anger. "Why would you yell at your brothers like that?"

Why would he yell? WHY would he yell?! Why would he f - "Because I'm fucking angry." Tim was so ready to let go of the anger. He was ready to apologize and blame it all on sleep (or lack there of) but Dick just had to go and reprimand him. He didn't reprimand the lost son or the prodigal child, but of course, he went after the only victim of the group.

Tim is looking down, so Bruce looks around at each one of his sons, shushing them with a glare. Bruce softens his gaze and his tone. He looks at his son, who's jaw is clenching, who's teeth are grinding, and who pushes away his hot plate of food out of disgust and a clear loss of appetite. 

Bruce sighs. Now is not the time for emotionally-constipated Bruce. Now is the time for fatherly Bruce. He can tell this has been building for a while. He's seen how his sons treat his third oldest. He's seen the way that Tim flinches when Jason or Damian walks into the room, how his mood dampens when one of his brothers enters. He's seen the way Tim avoids sleeping or is always on guard. 

Bruce just doesn't know why he's never tried to help his son.

Bruce doesn't know exactly what to do. But he can try. "Tim," he starts, "are you okay?" 

To everyone's surprise, Tim lets out a mirthless, cruel laugh. He pushes his plate away, crossing his arms over his stomach as he doubles over. He snorts and giggles, twists and turns as he leans back and forth, tears springing to his eyes at the question. His family looks on, concerned, each ready to either pin Tim down or run down to the Cave for the Joker toxin antidote. But then, all at once, Tim's laughter stops. 

His laughter subsiding, Tim tries to talk in between small hiccups. "I - I can't believe you'd - you'd ask that!" He snorts. "Of course I'm - of course I'm not okay! My family - my family . . . my friends . . . " he trails off, his laughter gone as his eyes sting. He swallows thickly as he looks up to Bruce. "Well, they're dead. All dead. I could show you their graves if you want to, though it'd take a whole day of your time that you'd never want to spend on me." He wanted to laugh at the end of that sentence, but it was as if all the color, all the happiness in the world had been ripped out. 

Oh, and here comes the silence again. That awkward silence. Not even a filler. It's a tension-maker. 

Bruce's expression changes instantly. So does the rest of the family. Tim's words were bats to their thick skulls that were finally heavy enough to make a dent. That dent in their skulls changed their smiles to frowns and their laughter to worry. Damian, though, he just reverted to his neutral face.

Tim feels their pity, he can smell their hurt. His anxiety grows as he wonders at what point in the following conversation will he be kicked out. His mind is racing. He can't breathe. His chest is stuttering and his feet are tingling. He bites the inside of his cheek. He needs to breathe but he can't show that he can't breathe. He needs to scream but to scream he has to breathe and he can't breathe he just can't breathe he can't - 

"Timbit," starts Jason. Is that - is that worry in his voice? Is Jason worried? Is he actually worried. "are you . . . why didn't you tell us?" 

The silverware in Tim's hands bend before he throws them at the wall. The butter knife and fork soar past Jason's head. Jason ducks, still. His hands clamp over his head as he stares at Tim shocked.

Tim screams. "I JUST TRIED TO!" He roars, standing up so abruptly that the chair he was sitting on topples backwards. Tim's hands fly to his hair and he grabs and twists. "I just - I just tried to and - and you just - you didn't - you didn't - didn't-" He gasps, grabbing at his chest. 

The family watches in horror as he stumbles backwards, hands grabbing at different parts of his body as he struggles to ground himself. Choked breaths escape his lips as he strains his chin upwards in a pathetic attempt to breathe. He fights back tears and sobs and cries and shrieks.

Bruce stands up, about to go console his child, something he should've done years ago, sees something in Tim's eyes when he steps forward. Fear.

And of course Tim is afraid when Bruce steps forward. He knows what this is. First it was Jason who tried to kill him. Then it was Damian and then it was Dick betraying Tim. It only made sense that in a matter of time, Bruce would come to despise Tim, too. Of course he would. Tim is just a nuisance. A burden. His parents knew it, and now Bruce knows it, too. 

Did they plan this? Have they been waiting to get him all worked up? Have they been waiting for an excuse to kick him out, to finally hit him? He can't fight Bruce today. He isn't dressed in his clothing with his utility belt. He's just in his sweat pants. And all four of them? At once? He can't - he isn't prepared to fight the Waynes today.

His eyes widen and his bottom lip trembles as he begins to calculate each way to escape. His hands are shaking and he tries to steady them but all he can think about is the pain to come and his heart pounding in his head. His knees are weakening and he can't breathe.

"Tim, would you please just-" Bruce begins, reaching his hand out and taking a step forward. But he is absolutely appalled when Tim flinches and steps backwards. It's not small, it's an entire body flinch and he even steps into a defensive stance. 

Bruce's face falls as the boys look on. Jason is stunned, Damian is surprised, and Dick is beyond sad and surprised. Bruce looks at Tim, who is shaking like a leaf. Tim now has tears welling up in his eyes and he's swallowing thickly, still terrified of Bruce for some reason. Bruce, who can't move, because his beautiful boy, his son, just flinched and thinks that Bruce is going to hit him.

Bruce's voice almost breaks. He breathes sadly, "Tim . . . I would never hit you. I would and will never lay a hand on you." 

Dick takes a step forward, and Tim flinches again. "Why not?" Tim pants, trying to lick his dry lips but his tongue is somewhat stuck in his mouth and there's a massive lump in his throat that's weighing down his shoulders. Tim looks to Damian, remarking, "He did." Damian stays stoic, but he crosses his arms. Tim looks to Jason. "He did, too." Tim looks to Dick, who turns pale as Tim speaks. "You tried to send me to Arkham. And plus, you all want to hit me."

Jason's eyes dart from side to side. He finally looks up when it clicks. "You think we all want to hit you?" Tim stays silent, but he curls his fists and drops his knees to a more defensive stance, eyes switching from person to person. Jason runs his fingers through his own hair, exhaling harshly. "Jesus Christ, replacement. This is your home. You're supposed to feel safe at home."

Tim looks down at the ground. And his fists clench. And his world stops. Because are these assholes serious? Safe? Safe?! Honest to god, is that what they think they've made him feel? Do they think they've made him feel welcomed or loved? He knew that they've been through some things, but he thought they were smarter than that. 

Tim is quiet as he contemplates this, his panic subsiding into fury. His moments of quiet only increase the tense worry in the air. Maybe he's thinking it through, they assume. Maybe he's realizing that he's wrong, or that he was so sleep deprived and confused them for the Drakes. They can't possibly expect -

"How the - how the fuck do you think you've made me feel safe?" it's a harsh, hoarse whisper. He looks up at them, and they might as well have been stabbed. In his eyes, which are swimming with tears at this point, are bloodshot, red, and full of a seething, burning hot yet freezing cold hatred that chills the Waynes to their bones. 

Dick steps forward again but this time Tim straightens his back, pulling at his scalp with his fingers. "No, no, no how the fuck do you think you've made me feel loved or - or safe? I have a security system to my room," he shouts, pointing at his chest. His hands are so stiff and he just wants to drive his fist through a wall or through their faces. "I sleep with a knife under my pillow. I was pushed off of the fucking dinosaur downstairs and then yelled at for fighting back! How the fuck was that supposed to make me feel safe?! How is any - how is any of that acc - acceptable?!"

Bruce swallows thickly. How did he let it come to this? He wasn't gone for that long. He left Richard in charge! Richard! Bruce knew about Damian getting Robin, but Damian needed it, right? Damian didn't know what he was doing when he injured Tim, right?

Has Bruce truly hurt his son that much? He took Tim from Drake manor, rescued him from the neglect and the beatings, but is it possible that Bruce only sentenced Tim to a worse fate in a worse family?

Bruce looks at Tim, heartbroken at how broken and defeated his son is. "Tim-"

Tim looks up at Bruce. How - no, why does he look so concerned? Why do any of them look worried? Why is Damian startled or Dick sad or Jason upset? Why is Bruce doing this? Hasn't he done enough? Tim clenches his fists at his side. He can't do this. He can't live like this. He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't even want to live at all. 

He can't handle it anymore. He can't. He - "STOP FUCKING ACTING LIKE YOU CARE!" It might not have been loud in pitch, but that scream could've shattered glass for miles. It's a scream that would bring people out of their homes and looking for someone being murdered. It's a scream that broke hearts and could fill swimming pools if pain was water.

After the scream tears from his throat, Tim is panting. Bruce is stunned, it's plain to see. More than one of the boys flinched backwards. Torrents of tears now fall from Tim's eyes. His eyes are as red as all he sees. But he's not done. 

"No one," he spits angrily, glaring up at the Waynes. "No one has ever gave a single damn about me! And if they did, they're dead! Fucking dead in a fucking gra - in a grave that I had - that I had to -to pay for. I am a fucking curse, and you are all assholes who make my life a living Hell!" His words, though vulgar and shouted, are like steak knives through the Waynes' hearts.

Tim pants heavily as he glares up at Bruce. Bruce nearly falls backwards at the intense, seething, burning hot and pure rage that the boy holds in his eyes. "You're worse than my dad. Because at least my parents never made me believe that they loved me. You - you," he stammers, stumbling backwards, drunk on the pain. Speaking is such a tedious chore when at the same time he's blocking the screams and the punches he wants to throw. "You keep - you keep telling me I'm your son while we all know I'm nothing more than a fucking publicity stunt stand-in."

Bruce shakes his head. How - how did it come to this? "Timothy," pleads Bruce, "you're not a publicity stunt. You're my son-"

Tim doesn't want to hear it. Not one bit. "They're your sons. I'm just a pretender." Jason loudly sucks his teeth at that remark, and Tim turns to Jason, leaning to the side to look at his ex-idol. "Isn't that what you call me? 'Stand-in?' 'Replacement?' 'Nothing?'" Tim steps back, throwing his arms out to the side. With a humorless chuckle, he remarks, "I mean, we all know I am nothing. I'm just the little unwanted nothing who found out your secret. Right, Bruce?"

Tim steps up, hitting Bruce on the chest with just his pointer finger. Though it was strong with anger, it was still weak, though Bruce was pushed backwards. "Say it, Wayne. Say you never wanted me. Admit it so we can get this whole thing over with."

No one says anything.

Are they sad? Distraught? Upset? Embarrassed? Angry? Shocked? To all of that, yes. What are they supposed to do? Apologize? Tell Tim how much they love him? Tim's a man of logic. A man of evidence. And anything they say, he could fire back with some evidence of how one of them tried to slaughter him or how one of them lowered his already all-time record-breaking low-self esteem.

Tim is furious. He's accepted it. He wants to end this and end everything else. He slaps Bruce and pushes him backwards, but Bruce just takes it. Oh, thinks Tim, he's mocking me now.

Tim pounds on Bruce's chest. "Fucking say it you asshole! Say it! Say-"

Tim raises a fist. Before he swings, a gentle hand wraps around his wrist. Tim's anger evaporates when he turns his head to see Alfred. Of course. Tim swallows thickly, and allows Alfred to guide his hand back down to his side. Alfred places a hand on Tim's shoulder, and begins to walk him out of the room.

And when they're gone, Bruce drops to his knees.

For he had lost another son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My brothers used to be like this. They weren't as bad as the Waynes, but they definitely teased me. Nothing abusive or anything, but it was bullying. It was only after I went to therapy that I could finally communicate and fix my family situation. 
> 
> I could totally talk about my cousins and how they are what this chapter is based on (but with more rage) but I just sorta wanted to add that I have been through this and that this story will be realistic, and as you can see in the tags, will have a happy ending.
> 
> But the next chapter is angst. 
> 
> I also want to say OMG OMG OMG! I woke up to so many comments and hits! Thank you all so much!


	3. To Be Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tim overhears parts of a conversation the family has in the Batcave, he reaches his breaking point. He just wants to go home.
> 
> Trigger warnings of suicide, suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts apply for this chapter (and probably the next one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sobbed writing this chapter. This is the angst of the angst of this story. This is the feels of the feels. But that means it can only go up. 
> 
> Intense trigger warnings for suicide, suicidal ideations, and suicide attempt.

As Alfred leads Tim back to his room, Alfred is fuming with anger. Alfred rarely gets this angry, or for that matter, angry at all. The times that Alfred can truly say he got angry always involved the family he cares for. He was angry when Ms. Al Ghoul took advantage of Master Bruce. He was furious when the young Master Jason felt he needed to steal from the kitchen in order to survive. He shook with rage when that devil David Cain broke into the manor in a futile attempt to take back the young Mistress Cassandra. 

Do not misinterpret this message - Alfred has also gotten mad at his family. He didn't like when Bruce pummeled Jason into the pavement. He scolded Damian when he pushed Tim off the dinosaur. He reprimanded Dick for tossing Tim aside. He shook his head at Bruce when he didn't pay enough attention to Dick when he first arrived at the manor.

This time is different. Never before has Alfred gotten so severely and purely furious at Young Master Bruce and the others. Ever since the poor boy stepped foot into this manor, he was treated differently. Treated worse. Timothy was treated not as a son, but purely as a soldier. Sure, there have been good days, but not nearly - not even close to enough good days to solidify good relationships. 

Alfred stays with Tim until the boy has cried himself to sleep. Alfred's shirt is swamped with tears and snot. Tim's eyes are bloodshot and puffy like his nose. He's safely under the covers, tucked in tightly. Alfred looks longingly to the boy, who even in his sleep, cannot move his lips from a frown. How Alfred desires to see that beautiful smile Tim used to wear so proudly.

More than anything, Alfred wants to see Timothy Jackson Drake smile again.

Alfred changes his shirt, and leaves the room.

\- - - 

But Tim can't sleep.

He fell asleep for all of fifteen glorious minutes before he turned on his side and turned on his phone. He couldn't hear talking coming from the living room so he rightly assumed that the family was in the cave. He can hack the cave's security systems as easily as he breathe. 

What he saw was the family sitting at the briefing table where they discuss missions and criminal cases. Bruce was at the head, holding his face in his hands. He looked exhausted. Damian was silent, brooding in his chair. He looked confused. Dick was staring at his folded hands on the table. He looked sullen. Jason was talking. He looked troubled.

Tim tuned into the audio. Jason was speaking. "He's just not Tim anymore. I know I had something to do with it, at least I know now. God," he sits back down into his seat, burying his face in his hands. "I swear I didn't know how far it had gotten."

Damian spoke up. "At the League, we're not allowed to be this sensitive. I was simply making him a better adversary."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Oh, by killing him?!"

Damian scoffs. "Look who is talking, Todd!" 

"Oh, like you're any better?!"

Dick intervenes. "Guys!" The two turn to Dick, who has tears welling up in his tired eyes. "Stop. Please. We need to talk about Tim." 

They do need to talk about Tim. And how they're going to kick him out. How they'll explain to the public when they distance themselves from him. How they'll explain how he's no longer a part of the Wayne line. They'll explain that he just wasn't right for the family. That he didn't fit in.

"Well we need to bench him." Of course Jason suggested that. He tried to bench Tim in the unconventional manner so long ago - the scar is still there, though. Jason would love to not have Red Robin in the field anymore. He would celebrate. They all would.

"No. We . . . I made a mistake," sighs Bruce. Bruce runs his hands through his hair. He's tired, and not just because of the bags under his eyes. He's tired because he has to deal with Tim. "I made a mistake when I brought Tim into my home. I-" Tim throws the tablet across the room, snapping it in half, shattering the screen. 

He . . . 

Bruce . . . 

Tim stumbles off his bed, landing on the floor with a soft impact. He scrambles, his feet kicking up carpet as he backs into the wall. He sinks down against the wall, slamming his head backwards into the wall. His throat tightens. His neck strains. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His chest stutters with breath. He wants to scream and he wants to cry and he doesn't want to breathe but it isn't like he can anyways. He tries to close his mouth but when his lips part to let out a choked sob he clamps his clammy hands over his mouth.

He feels so stupid. He feels so used. He wants to crawl into a pit and never come out. He wants to hide under his bed and fall asleep and never wake up. He curls into himself, sobbing into the floorboards. How could he have been so stupid, so naïve? How could he have thought that he could have a family, that he could have been happy? How could he have been so idiotic? 

He doesn't belong here. 

He never did.

He never belonged anywhere. And he never will.

Slowly, he stands up. He braces himself on the wall; his legs are shaking like loose jelly. He clenches his fingers, breaking the wood into hideous splinters. He begins to pull his feet off the ground and push his legs forward. He walks over to his dresser.

Faces mock him behind bulletproof frames. Their smiles tease him of the happy times he had before he lost everything. Pictures of him and Damian and Dick and the rest of the family - a family he thought he had. Rage fills him as he picks up the picture and throws it at the wall. It shatters. He cries. He picks up another picture and throws it. He does this again and again and again.

The bed table his parents gave him is cracked in half. The lamp he got from his father that he used to cherish is tossed aside. He was tossed aside. Tim was tossed aside. He gave them his love, his time, his brain, his life. They gave him pain. They gave him nightmares. They made him cry himself to sleep so many nights that it became routine. He gave them everything and they gave him pain. They gave him false hope. All they ever -

Oh.

Tim arrived at his closet. And in there, behind the suits on hangers and the hoodies on their shelves, was a box. Tim drops to his knees. His fingers, shivering and bloody and blistered, grab the golden handle of the wooden box. He drags the wood along the roughed-up carpet. The rustling sound is like autumn, the month that he met Conner.

Oh, Kon.

With destruction all around him, Tim reaches down. He gently, carefully, lovingly guides the beautiful golden latches upwards. The box clicks open. Tim gingerly lifts the top of the box up, setting it behind the box. Inside, is a shirt. 

Kon's shirt.

Tim takes the shirt in his hands, folding it in his arms. He presses it against his chest. He presses it against his face. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent. He sobs in relief, screaming into the fabric.

He smiles, off in a daze. It smells like him. It smells like Conner. It smells like love. It smells like long walks on the beach. It smells like days in the sun. It smells like moments only the two of them shared. Like comforting hugs that make up for a loss of home. Like kissing in the rain and genuine smiles so big that your face hurts for days afterwards. It smells like holding hands being enough to communicate essays upon essays of reasons why you love each other. It smells like Conner. It smells like happiness. It smells like home. 

Home. 

Tim thought he never knew a home. He really did. But he knew Conner. He loved Conner. He loved and lost Conner. He's loved and he's lost. He's lost and he's lost and of course he's loved but then he lost. He's taken everything life has thrown at him. And God knows he's done everything to get through it. God knows that he's wanted to end it. God knows that he's wanted to join his family, to see them again. But he's always had a reason to stay.

And now, he has a reason to see them again. He wants to see his loved ones again. He wants to be held in Conner's arms while Steph teases him - but he'll laugh and go along with it. He wants to be there while Bart barges into his room - but Tim won't feel defensive. He'll be happy. He'll be home.

Tim stands up, holding the shirt against his chest. Tim walks through the destruction, his feet being slashed by shattered glass. He walks into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror. His cheekbones are prominent. His eyes and nose resemble strawberries. His clothing is ruined. His hair is messed up. But he doesn't mind his reflection - he's holding Kon's shirt. 

He begins to fill the bathtub up with water. He presses a kiss to the shirt. He looks into the mirror, and as the water fills up, as he makes the first slice, he can hear nothing. But by the last slice, as he lays his tired body down into the tub, a smile on his face as he thinks of seeing his family of friends again, he can almost hear a faint voice calling out to him.

\- - - 

It's been five minutes of Jason explaining himself and Damian adding in a defensive comment every now and then. The family sitting at the briefing table where they discuss missions and criminal cases. 

Bruce was at the head, holding his face in his hands. He's exhausted. He's exhausted of the fighting but alert because he doesn't want to see his son suffer any longer. Damian was silent, brooding in his chair. He's confused. Why was Tim so hurt? Damian doesn't think his words were ever too harsh. Dick was staring at his folded hands on the table. He was sullen. It's all his fault. As the eldest brother, he could've - should've done more. Jason was talking. He's troubled. He never wanted to hurt Tim that badly, but once he started, for some God-forsaken reason, he couldn't stop.

Jason sighs, ending his explanation of why he did what he did to Tim. It eventually descended into his thoughts about Tim. "He's just not Tim anymore. I know I had something to do with it, at least I know now. God," he sits back down into his seat, burying his face in his hands. "I swear I didn't know how far it had gotten."

Damian spoke up. "At the League, we're not allowed to be this sensitive. I was simply making him a better adversary." His face is neutral, but his lips want to droop. His face is squinting and there's a faint stinging around his eyes.

Jason narrows his eyes. "Oh, by attempted murder?!"

Damian scoffs. "Look who is talking, Todd!" 

"Oh, like you're any better?!"

Dick intervenes. "Guys!" The two turn to Dick, who has tears welling up in his tired eyes. They're stunned. it's not often that Dick cries. "Stop. Please. We need to talk about Tim." 

They do need to talk about Tim. And how they're going to kick him out. How they'll explain to the public when they distance themselves from him. How they'll explain how he's no longer a part of the Wayne line. They'll explain that he just wasn't right for the family. That he didn't fit in.

"Well we need to bench him." Of course Jason suggested that. He tried to bench Tim in the unconventional manner so long ago - the scar is still there, though. Jason would love to not have Red Robin in the field anymore. The kid has done so much for Batman. He's risked his life too much. Tim should be living a normal life. Not doing this.

Out of all the Robins, Jason wants Tim to leave the life behind the most. Because Tim will end up dead. Jason just knows it, and he knows that none of them will be able to handle it when that dreaded time does come.

"No. We . . . I made a mistake," sighs Bruce. Bruce runs his hands through his hair. He's tired, and not just because of the bags under his eyes. He's tired because he is berating himself on how he let Tim down. This is all on Bruce. He promised Tim a better life and not only did he not deliver on that promise, but he only made Tim's life worse. Bruce let it get this far, and he hates himself for it.

Bruce continues solemnly and with all of the boys' attention on him. "I made a mistake when I brought Tim into my home. I brought him here, to Wayne Manor, with the intention of showing him the love and kindness he was supposed to get from his parents. But I didn't do that."

"None of us did, B," interjects Dick, who the guilt weighs heavy on as well.

Bruce shakes his head. "No, it's not your job. I'm the father. I could've done more. Tim is so exceptional, and I thought that in his times of need, I needed to give him space. I thought he wanted to be alone. I thought that he would be okay. That I didn't need to be a parent to him, when that's exactly what I promised him I'd be. I failed. And I don't fully believe I ever truly tried."

"Oh stop that, father," snaps Damian. "We all failed Drake. I especially. Placing the blame is not going to anything but waste precious time."

Alfred walks into the room. "Perhaps Master Damian is correct." The family turns to face Alfred. Alfred's eyes are not warm, but sad. Sad and angry. "Though, I'd like to say how very disappointed I am in each and every one of you. That boy has been through much, and not once did any of you think to console him the way you do each other. He does not want to be here, and it does not help when none of you act like you want him here.

"Now," Alfred continues. The boys hang onto his every word and more. He is Alfred, after all. But they also listen so intently because they truly want to do better. "I have served this fine family for generations. I have watched you grow, and I am more than proud at how you have turned out." Alfred takes in a breath. "I trust that you know what you need to do." 

Dick inhales through his nose. He looks at Alfred. "How do we make this right?"

Before Alfred can reply, there's a loud crash from upstairs. Alfred looks at the family with wide eyes. Determination and anger fills his features. "Go. NOW!" He never raises his voice. But as soon as he does, the family leaps out of their chairs and begins to sprint upstairs. Tim's room is the farthest away from the cave.

Bruce is the fastest, next is Jason. Together with Damian and Dick trailing behind, the Waynes tear through hallways. They fly over carpets and practically walk through walls. Their feet caught fire at the rate they leaped up flights of stairs and barged through doors. Their hearts hammered in their heads. Cold fear washed over them and made the hallways never-ending.

Bruce reaches Tim's door. His toe shatters the door handle in half. The door flies open to reveal a torn up room. Pictures have been shattered. Glass is everywhere. There's an open box with golden latches on the floor. The covers are all messed up, and Tim isn't under them. Clothes have been thrown everywhere. There's fresh splinters in the wooden walls.

Bruce, panting heavily, leaps over furniture. He grabs the bathroom door and rips it off the hinges. And he looks at the sight inside.

"TIM!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update will either be later tonight or tomorrow. I gotta do homework and that ish.


	4. The First Step.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family saves Tim's life. Afterwards, Bruce and Damian talk about family. Trigger warnings for suicide, blood, and mental issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter with serious blood and gore. Thank you all again for reading and giving this story so much love. I really appreciate it.

Although the next few hours would pass in a horrified daze, the Waynes could tell you each and every second of that horrid night and then morning. 

Bruce was the one to open the door. He was the one to see the blood dripping onto the marble tiles of the bathroom floor. It was a sickly red substance that pooled and seeped into the cracks, staining the floor. The drip . . . . drip . . . . drop might have been the loudest thing in the entire world if not for it being second to the gut-wrenching scream that tore through Bruce's throat, ravaging his vocal chords and shattering the glass in the manor. 

Jason was the one to arrive second. He saw Bruce drop to his knees. He saw the Batman collapse before the tub, removing his shirt. The sleeves were torn in half and being wrapped around pale, thin, limp yet shaking, blood-painted wrists. Jason saw the head bobbing above polluted water.

Jason couldn't - he just - he couldn't - Jason couldn't. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't think about anything but his mother and her overdose. Jason was kicking himself but he physically and mentally couldn't function and yet his mind was running so many miles a second that it was as if all there was in his head was white noise where thoughts and actions should have been. He faintly remembers backing up against the wall, hands pulling at the roots of his hair, pulling, pulling, pulling as he sank to the floor. 

Dick was the one who grabbed the towels. Dick sprinted into the room. He saw Jason on the floor before he saw Bruce stopping the bleeding. Dick was the one who grabbed the towels before throwing them aside to grab Tim's legs and lift the boy out of the tub. Then he grabbed the towels again. 

When they lifted Tim out of the tub, careful to immobilize his wrists, he nearly whimpered in pain. He was moaning and groaning, yelling incoherently with fogged over eyes when they tied the towels around his wrists, applying panicked pressure. Bruce took great care of Tim's wounds while Dick carded his fingers through the boy's hair, whispering soothing nothings into his ears, biting back his tears while he held down the boy's shoulders to allow Bruce to save his life, however painful it was.

There was a gasp from the doorway. 

Dick was determined. He whipped his head to see Damian. Damian was shocked, fear evident in his usually stoic face. His eyes were trained on Tim, who was bleeding his soul onto the floor. 

"Damian," said Dick, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion. His eyes held a cold, fierce determination that Damian has never been met with before. "Sprint downstairs. Tell Alfred we have a 10-56 and to prep the OR." Damian did not move, though, his feet stapled to the floor. Dick's eyes narrowed. "Damian, now!" He yelled.

The boy, snapped out of his daze, nodded before turning on his heels and running downstairs. His footsteps echo throughout the halls but all that can be heard are Tim's cries of pain. Bruce gently slips an arm under Tim's legs. He goes to place an arm under Tim's back, but Tim's head is in Dick's lap, and the older brother isn't letting go.

"Richard," Bruce sternly but gently pulls Richard back to reality. Dick nods, swallowing thickly and letting go of his baby brother, allowing Bruce to place his other arm across Tim's back. Bruce lifts Tim into the air and begins to run downstairs to the cave, leaving behind a sobbing Dick Grayson, and a traumatized Jason Todd. 

While the two eldest brothers sit still in the bathroom, unable to move or do anything but cry, Bruce leaps down the stairs in the cave. His feet set the carpet on fire at the speed he's running. He's unable to think clearly and his mind is overflowing to panic. Tim isn't awake. He's not awake. He's not awake and he's limp, bleeding out in Bruce's arms.

And all that Bruce can think is that he can't lose another son.

"ALFRED!" Both Alfred and Damian look up when Bruce's voice booms across the cave walls.

"Over here, Master Bruce!" Bruce rushes over to the OR table, laying Tim down onto the table. Bruce assists Alfred in untying the towels and shirts. When Bruce unties one of the towels, Alfred quickly cleans and dresses the wound. Tim has fallen asleep, his head limp against the metal. 

By the time that Alfred is placing Tim on an IV drip, Bruce has stumbled away from the table. He's covered in blood - Tim's blood. He looks at his son on the OR table. He doesn't wonder where he went wrong, no, his boy is perfect. But Bruce went wrong somewhere, and now he knows he has to make it right.

\- - -

Bruce sits at Tim's bedside. Tim's cheeks are pale, his hands frail, his hair messy and yet his face is ever-so peaceful. His arms have been bandaged and his clothes have been changed. Alfred dried Kon's shirt, careful to not wash out the scent. Tim is now using the shirt as a pillow, something Dick thought the boy would appreciate. 

Speaking of Dick, Alfred found him and Jason in the bathroom. Dick was holding Jason who coming down from a very bad PTSD episode. Jason barely acknowledged Alfred, even as the butler lead Jason out of the room. Alfred sat Jason down onto the bed and called for Ace. The dog, trained for these circumstances, was able to calm Jason down, but it took time. 

It took Dick a little while to collect his composure, but eventually, he travelled down the stairs of the cave. Tim was sleeping in the medical wing of the cave. He was in his own little hospital room. Dick collapsed into the chair in the corner although he did try to keep his eyes open and on Tim, as if the boy would disappear should Dick look away for even a split second. 

Bruce couldn't sleep. He held Tim's hand, stroked the boy's thin hair, reminded himself that he was alive, and that he would make it through the night, and somehow, Bruce doesn't know how yet, Tim will also make it through the rest of his expected life span. Tim will have a life, long and prosperous, full of love, of joy, of accomplishments, of success, of hope, of family, should Tim still want his family when he wakes. But whether he wants the extended Wayne family beside him, Bruce will still ensure that perfect life for his perfect son, Timothy Drake.

Bruce's eyelids are drooping when Damian enters the room. Damian looks at Tim's body, sleeping on the hospital bed. Damian, who's face has three forms - a sneer, a scowl, or stoic, is now tense. His jaw is locked and he's stiff as he walks over to the opposite side of the bed from his father. He looks at Bruce, but Bruce can't look away from Tim.

Damian opens his mouth, but the words are trapped in his gut, right next to a pit. Damian closes his mouth, and looks down at Drake. It's not that he hates the teen. At first, it was that Drake was Damian's competition. And in a way, he still is. Drake could breathe and Grayson would fawn. Drake would answer a question correctly and Father would beam with pride. Drake can do no wrong, and yet all Damian can do is wrong. 

Drake is the beloved child. Everyone can see it. The media is in love with him and so are all of Drake's peers, whether it's the Titans, whether it's their schoolmates at Gotham Academy, or even if it's the villains they fight, for even the villains love Red Robin. Ra's al Ghoul loves Red Robin and Tim Drake. It's not fair.

But it also doesn't make sense why Drake would think he's unloved. That's what Damian doesn't understand.

Or rather, he didn't understand. But maybe, just maybe, he sees that his words could possibly, probably, most likely be hurtful. And so could his actions, his assassination attempts to be more specific. 

Damian licks his lips, and then looks at his father. Father still stares at Drake. "I would like to . . . apologize," softly begins Damian. Father doesn't move. "I could see now, that my actions could have caused Drake pain. I see that he does have reason to feel unsafe, and that I could be seen as part of that reason. If I had known it had gotten this far . . . " 

Damian trails off. In the League, he killed. He took too many lives and he knows now how wrong it was. He knows now that his father's code is superior. But Damian did kill. He slit many throats after hearing so many speeches, so many bribes about why this person or that person should be the one exception to the rule, the one person to live.

Never in his time as an assassin did Damian see someone welcome death, much less run towards it. 

"I would have stopped my attempts." Damian clenches his fists at his side. He closes his eyes, shutting them ferociously. "I would not have made Drake feel like he was nothing. I would not have torn this family apart. And for that, I apologize, father." 

Father continues to look at Drake. Damian stops his breathing as a cold dread washes over him. Father is going to kick him out. Damian has always been the trouble child, and of course it was only time until he sent Damian back to the league. Even though Father and Grayson have sworn up and down and left and right that they'd never send him back, now they have a good reason to - 

"Your apology is accepted." Damian's head shoots up when Father opens his mouth. Father still looks at Drake, though. "But it's not me who needs your apology right now." 

Damian takes a seat. "So are you saying that I wasted my time with that speech I crafted and delivered?"

Father looks at Damian, shaking his head. "I was going to make you apologize. You hurt your brother, a vital member of this family. You all matter in this family, and I know for a fact that I have told you that more than enough times for you to remember."

Damian swallows. "I know, father. I apologize, father."

"I also know how it was for you in the League. And I am not sending you back." Damian's eyes narrow in disbelief. "I will never send you back. But I will ground you. And from now on," Father shifts in his seat, reaching up to Tim's forehead to brush hair out of his face. "you will treat your brother better. He deserves your respect and your love." 

"Shouldn't I deserve his respect?" snaps Damian.

Father looks up at Damian. He isn't angry, he isn't giving Damian the Bat-glare. He isn't annoyed. He isn't anything but sad and determined. "You'll have to earn it, first. Respect is earned."

"And love isn't?" Love is a new concept for Damian. He still doesn't full understand it.

Father shakes his head. "Love is unconditional. I love all my children," Father's sad eyes sadly drift to Tim. Father's hand caresses Tim's cheek, and in his sleep, Tim leans into the touch, a small smile crossing his face as he dreams. "though I don't believe I show it enough." 

Damian's throat is clogged and his eyes are stinging. "I've treated him . . . " Damian lets out a breath that stutters. His bottom lip quivers and he wipes furiously at his eyes. "so badly, father. I don't believe I can even begin to reconcile with him." 

Father reaches over Tim's legs. He takes Damian's small hand in his, giving a comforting squeeze. "The first step is admitting that there's a problem."

"And the next?"

Father sighs. "Months or years or decades of showing and proving to Tim how much he's loved. It's going to take time. It's going to take us watching our words, because of the impact they have on others." Damian opens his mouth, but Bruce beats him to it. "Words do have an impact. Often times our words hit harder than any punch. I know this is new to you, but as a part of this family you are obligated to change your behavior and treat your brother better."

His brother. 

Damian's family. Tim has never hurt Damian. Grayson says family isn't supposed to hurt each other. So why did Drake take it? Why didn't Tim fight back? Was it because he didn't think family should fight? Was Drake already considering Damian family, even when he was being bullied? When Damian was putting Drake down, did Drake think of Damian as a brother? Did he think his brothers were hurting him this whole time? 

Did he think his family has been hurting him this whole time?

Damian looks to his father. "I can do that, father."

The first step is done. Now is time for all of the rest.


	5. And at last I see the light.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end.
> 
> Just the happy beginning of a happy life with a happy ending.

Tim dreamt of gradient lavender sunsets and bare feet on hot sand. He smelled love and his boyfriend. He dreamt that he and Kon were on the beach, walking along, hand in hand. Tim was talking and Kon was listening. Kon always listened. Kon was good like that. Tim liked Kon. He thinks Kon liked him back. They were talking and Tim only slowly noticed when he woke up.

Because it still felt as if Kon was there. 

Tim's eyes opened slowly. He thought he was laying his head against Kon's chest, but he was simply using Kon's iconic shirt as a pillow. A pillow? The bed. The bed in the cave? He was in a bed in the cave? The bed smelled of antiseptic soap and Bruce's cologne.

Bruce?

Oh, Bruce.

Tim moves his heavy head to the side, seeing Bruce. Bruce was asleep, one of his hands holding one of Tim's. Bruce is sitting with one arm crossed over his midsection and his head limp against his chest. He's breathing in and out shallowly, and the rims that circle his eyes are red and puffy. He doesn't wake when Tim does, he isn't jostled from his slumber by Tim's jumbling. 

In the corner of the medical room is Dick. He's asleep in a chair with his legs hanging off one chair arm and his head resting against the wall. He's definitely been crying. His shirt is crumpled and his breaths are shallow. 

Damian is in the other corner, sketching quietly. He's changed into a black sweater and blue jeans. He sees Tim is awake, and he makes eye contact while closing his book. "Drake," he begins in a shouted whisper, "you're awake."

Tim is quiet. He doesn't know what to say. He didn't expect to wake up, though he didn't really expect anything. He can barely remember what happened. He remembers closing the door and having one of the biggest mental and emotional breakdowns of his life. He remembers sobbing for Kon and only being able to grab desperately at his shirt. He remembers stumbling into the bathroom, and grabbing the razor. He remembers reaching for Kon's shirt, and then nothing.

He remembers nothing after that. 

The look on Damian's face says that everyone else remembers everything else. 

Tim purses his lips and looks down. He wants to say something, Damian is expecting him to say something, but Tim doesn't have any words. Instead, he purses his lips, slips his taken hand out of Bruce's hand, raises both his hands, and makes two peace signs beside his head. He keeps his gaze pinned to the blanket.

Damian raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" 

Tim wasn't going to respond. Either way, if he was or wasn't going to, Bruce wakes up and talks first. Bruce's eyes open and land and focus on Tim. Tim dares not to look at Bruce, much less meet his gaze. 

"Tim," begins Bruce. A long, thoughtful, worried silence follows. Bruce doesn't know what to say. Sure, he's comforted suicide victims before. But as horrid as it sounds, it's completely true that Tim isn't just a suicide victim. He's Bruce's son, and for some reason, that puts up this thick barrier of communication between them. 

Bruce prepares for alien invasions, alien brainwashing, parasites, Poison Ivy's toxins, Mad Hatter's brainwashing, Queen Bee, Joker's laughing gas, Bane's venom, grooming, abuse, and so many other things that could happen. He is prepared for everything and yet nothing when it comes to his children and their feelings. 

Bruce is ashamed beyond being ashamed. He's furious with himself. He's horrified that he didn't see the signs - because there were signs. And he ignored each and every last one of them.

He should have set ground rules for how his children should be treated and how they should treat each other. He should have paid for therapy for Tim. He should have pat Tim on the back more, gave him more hugs, spent more time with him. He should have told Tim how much he matters and given him Bruce's attention and love. Bruce should have loved his kid more. 

Bruce should have treated Tim like a kid - no, Bruce should have treated Tim like he was Bruce's son - because he is.

But Tim didn't know that he is. Tim didn't know he was loved. Tim didn't know there were people in his corner. Tim didn't know that there were people he could talk to, or for that matter, that he would be save when he talked to them. Tim didn't know he was safe or loved or valued or any of the things he should know as one of the most beloved members of this family and the superhero community. 

The fact that he didn't know any of that is not Tim's fault. It's the fault of his family and those around him. It is not Tim's job to seek love and validation because he should have that already. It is everybody's but Tim's fault.

So before Tim can open his mouth and apologize, Bruce asks, "On a scale from one to ten, with ten being the best, I want you to tell or show me how you feel." Bruce doesn't know enough about his son, but he does know that Tim doesn't like being overwhelmed. He knows that Tim likes a soft, comforting tone rather than a loud, optimistic one.

Tim doesn't look at Bruce just yet. Instead, he holds up a six. Then he puts one down, turning the six into a five. He thinks for a moment, before lowering the five to a four, and the four to a three. Bruce is about to ask another question but Tim quietly mumbles, "I'm not in any physical pain, though."

Bruce nods. He waits a second before adding, "I'm not mad at you. I'm," he inhales deeply, "upset that you are in distress, but I'm not mad at you for how you feel. I'd never be mad at you for how you feel or anything like that. You're my par . . . " Bruce trails off. That kind of talk makes Tim feel unwanted, that kind of talk does everything but validate Tim's feelings. "You're my son," Bruce corrects himself, earning widened eyes from Tim. "and I would never want you to feel that upset."

Tim fiddles with his fingers in his lap. He inhales shakily, staring down at his lap. "I'm . . . I'm your son?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah."

"It doesn't feel like that." Bruce keeps his face stoic. He wants Tim to open up. "I'm sorry . . . it just doesn't. I mean legally I am your son, but emotionally? Mentally? I dunno. I just never really felt all that loved. I just always felt left out and like I was just sort of a burden. 

"And I . . . I want to forgive you," Tim sniffs, wiping at his eyes. He exhales shakily, looking up at Bruce with tears in his eyes. "but it . . . it hurts. Because I've been - I've been neglected a - and abused my entire life and when I came here it somehow got better and worse at the same time. And I'm angry and I miss a lot of people." He emphasizes 'a lot' because it has been a lot of people.

Tim wipes at his eyes and Bruce just looks at his son. He didn't like the truth but it had to be said. And now that it's out there. He can fix it, right? Right?

Tim's next words, however, are the worst possible thing Bruce could have ever imagined. "Please don't send me away," sobs Tim as he buries his face in his hands. Tears fall from his face as he cries for the family he had and the family he wants. 

Bruce is shocked. Appalled. Mortified with himself. He looks at Tim. Tim, who brightens his day. Tim who found out his secret and weaseled his way into the Waynes. But he made a place here. He made a permanent place here and if they were to kick him out it would be like removing a piece of their hearts and it would kill them.

"If father were to send you away," interrupts Damian, rising from his seat in the corner to walk over to Bruce and Tim and place a hand on the railing of Tim's hospital bed. Damian looks Tim dead in the eye. "I would institutionalize him in Arkham." 

Bruce gently takes Tim's hands in his, removing them from his face. Bruce looks at Tim with an unbreakable gaze. "Tim," he starts, pouring all of his love, all of his memories with Tim, all of his honesty and determination into Tim's name and into the sentences that will roll of his tongue. "If someone wants to take you away from me, from us, then they will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands. There is no way in any Hell that I will give you up or let you be taken from me. You are my son, Tim. You are my son."

Bruce swallows, shame filling his features. "And I know I haven't shown that. I know I didn't show how much you mean to me or how much I love you or how much we all love you. You are so loved and I am appalled that you think anything else. You," he caresses Tim's cheek with one of his hands, making sure Tim is looking into his eyes. "are a vital part of my life and I will be damned if I lose you."

A sob escapes Tim's lips as he lunges forward and buries his face in Bruce's shoulder. He sobs his heart out. He sobs, his body shaking as tears and snot cover his hands and arms. He sniffles, his chest heaving in little shakes and ripples. He tries to keep it in, he really does.

But he begins to wail.

He begins to scream. He sobs, the pain throwing his head forward and back, forward and back as he struggles to breathe and stop crying. A pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him into a body that smells of cashmere and coffee. He screams again, his shriek echoing off the hollow walls of the cave, of the house. His sobbing is muffled as he's pulled into Bruce's chest and pressed against it. 

Dick joins the hug, smushing Tim into a sandwich of love. One of Tim's hands leaves his side and reaches behind him, grasping at Dick's shoulder and for another lifeline. Dick happily gives more love to his younger brother.

His younger brother. His younger brother who he didn't believe. Dick never took Tim's side, never made him feel safe or loved. He certainly didn't make Tim feel wanted when he threatened the boy with Arkham or took Robin from him.

"I'm sorry, Timmy," cries Dick into Tim's hair. Tim gasps at the apology, grasping blindly for one of Dick's hands to hold. He finds one, and squeezes it, starving for comfort and love. "I should have been a better brother."

Damian, who refuses to join the hug but watches from afar, adds, "I, too, could have been a better brother."

"So could I." Jason walks into the room, hands shoved weakly in his pockets. He walks up to Tim, who removes his face from being buried into Bruce's shoulder to look up at Jason. Tim's face is streaked with snot and tears, but instead of the burning, freezing mixture of hatred and fear that turned Jason's stomach upside down and sideways, instead there's a less-cold openness to the look in his eyes. Relief, defeat almost. As if the fire he had been carrying, the flame he had been fueling was gone.

Jason looks at Tim, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't hate you. And I can see how I made you feel unsafe or whatever. So I guess I'm sorry and I want you to know you're, like, loved or something. 'Cause you are, TImbit. You're super smart and you deserve better brothers. You're important is what I guess I'm trying to say." 

Tim's sobs are just loud hiccups. He's breathing in and out as steadily as he can, but he's overwhelmed. He's relieved and he's happy and he's sad and he's happy. He would normally be doubting their every word. He would normally be paranoid that they're lying. After all, he's never seen this side of his brothers.

He's never seen this side of family. He's never been on the receiving end of an apology. He's always felt as if it was his fault. For a while there, he thought the fact that nobody loved him was his fault. After all, nobody did love him. He never was loved. He was born to be an heir not a son. He was a vigilante to be a partner and not an equal. He was dated to be in a relationship and not to be loved.

But he's a son with the Waynes. He's loved with the Waynes. He's valued in the superhero community. He's being smothered in forehead kisses and hand holds and close hugs. He's being loved and he's being valued and he's being apologized to. He's being told he did nothing wrong and he's being told that if he were lost, he would be sought out. If he were lost, he'd be missed so dearly that people would cry.

And for the first time, he sees it. He sees the truth. He sees the love, the way that his family - yes, he has a family - looks at him. He feels how they hold him and cherish him as if he's all they cared about. And he knows it's true. He knows they love him. 

"Babybird," breathes Jason, "are you . . . are you okay?"

And for the first time in forever, Tim can finally say, "Yes."

Tim is more than okay. 

Tim is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I sorta feel like I rushed this. 
> 
> So I didn't know how many chapters this would be. I want this to be a hurt/comfort, but honestly, the journey of recovery is so much longer than I could ever write. I do feel like I wrote a good beginning. I think that what I wrote can be seen as the start of good relationships, which is honestly all I wanted to accomplish.
> 
> Tim might not have fully forgiven them here. But that's okay. Forgiveness isn't required but apologies are a lot of the time. I wanted to highlight that Tim isn't required to forgive them right away, at least not until they apologized. I wanted to make sure that it was satisfactory on how Tim felt.
> 
> I want to thank all of you for the love you have shown this story. It was my first on Archive and OH MY GOD the amount of attention this got absolutely astounded me.
> 
> So, because I'm loving the love, the next thing I publish here will be a long series. It will be a Reverse Bat AU (Damian's the oldest, Tim's second, etc.) which centers around a young Dick Grayson coming into the family. Idk when it will be out but shouldn't be too far off.
> 
> Again, thank you for all the love that you've shown this story! xoxo - author.


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